


Dulce et Decorum est

by orphan_account



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Begging, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild D/s, Oral Sex, PWP, Teasing, just go with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24371410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: To paraphrase the WWI poet Wilfred Owen,Sweet and fitting it is/ To be a fucktoy for your battalion S2
Relationships: Lewis Nixon/David Kenyon Webster
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Dulce et Decorum est

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on the 2nd draft of the next "Long Ago and Far Away" installment, but I stumbled upon this thing I wrote for a kink challenge ("Webster. Nixon. Bondage") a very long time ago - seriously, Obama wasn't even president yet- and thought I'd share. It's a bit ridiculous, but I guess that's what I find so fun about this pairing. Oh, and pretend they're on leave in London.

"Sir, may I ask where -" Webster shifts and adjusts his arms. "Where are you going, Sir?"

Nixon finishes buttoning his jacket and spares half a glance David's way to answer him. 

"I'm out of cigarettes and... " He holds up his flask and shakes it. "You're pretty, but they've got tenure."

He walks toward the bed and wraps one hand around Webster's ankle, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the bone. "Should I untie you? I'll untie you." He doesn't move. David swallows. 

"'Course, if I were to do that you might be tempted to get yourself off."

David looks down at his erection, resting bored against his belly. He looks back at Nixon. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Nixon smiles rapaciously. "Of course not." He sits down on the bed and slides his hand down David's chest, abdomen, then very lightly down the length of his cock, gripping it at the base. He leans down to take David's mouth in an aggressive kiss. 

"Still..." he murmurs against David's lips. "You remind me of someone, and I'd never trust him to do what I ask, so..." He inspects the knotted necktie binding David's wrists. "You're staying put."

He pats David's thigh and stands to leave. "I'll be back in ten to forty-five minutes."

David looks up at the ceiling. The door opens again, and Nixon's head pops in between it and the frame. "I was talking about myself."

David narrows his eyes. "Yeah, I caught that." 

Nixon smiles, nods, and leaves for real this time. David peers above his head at the knot, convincing himself it's far too tight to try to loosen. If Nixon had untied him, if he could do it himself, he'd have no excuse not to leave immediately. He's not such a libertine that he doesn't need a Very Sound reason to stay, after all. 

How he'd gotten here in the first place is a still a bit of a mystery.

After ambling around London all afternoon, winding down sidewalks and gazing mournfully at the ruins of bombed-out church yards, he was loitering outside St. Paul's when he'd heard a familiar voice from behind him. 

"I've got a room in a pub in Blackfriars. Let me do whatever I want to you and I promise I'll make it worth your while."

The words hung there between them for a heavy moment, and then David was following him as if compelled, as if he knew no other option. Nixon took advantage of his stunned silence to elucidate exactly what he'd meant by "'whatever I want"'. 

***

Five minutes later, David's cock has gone soft again, subdued by a distinct lack of attention and the embarrassment he knows he'll feel very soon. He should have known this would happen. 

Captain Nixon is a man of sophisticated tastes and the wherewithal to indulge them. Reservations at La Caravelle, a new suit from Duncan & Sons; even things as simple as a tumbler of his favorite scotch, neat, a cozy chair by a fireplace, and a copy of the evening edition take on a gloss of excess and luxury when he pictures Nixon enjoying them. 

Perhaps even David Webster. He just hadn't expected he'd give it up so easily. 

More minutes pass, and he's thinking that it's really getting old now. The part of his brain not pouting like the brat he is remembers that before being left naked and alone in this rather chilly room, things were looking pretty good for him. It was looking like Nixon might not be such a phenomenal tease after all. 

***

As soon as the door of the room had closed behind them, Nix took David by the waist and walked him backward, guided him down to sit next to him on the bed. 

"What should I... " David's breath hitched as he felt Nixon pulling his shirttails out of his trousers, felt a thumb slip under the waistband to graze along the soft skin of his lower abdomen. "Tell me what you want, sir. Tell me again."

Nixon stopped and pulled back. "That's the best part, Webster." He took his hand away and folded both politely in his own lap. He crossed one ankle over his knee. "You're going to tell me. I'll get you started. You want me to finish undressing you and touch you every place but one."

David nodded. "Undress me... touch me."

"Every place but one," Nixon repeated, and waited for David to nod again before proceeding. When he did, Nix placed a hand on his his chest and gently pushed him to lie down on his back. He unbuttoned his fly and gracefully tugged his pants down over his hips, leaving his underwear on him. He slid off the bed to remove David's boots and socks before tossing the pants in a heap, pausing to remove his own jacket. Then he knelt over him, dragging blunt fingernails along the tops of his feet, to his ankles, up his shins. He paused at the knees and slowly traced his tongue around the outline of David's kneecap. Nix moved his head between his legs and licked the bare skin at the bend of his knee, and David whimpered so girlishly he felt his cheeks immediately flush in embarrassment.

"Right, then," Nix said. "I'd say it's time we move on. What's next?"

"Sir... I don't -"

"This again?" Nixon smirked. "Fine. I think you want me to spread your legs and kneel between them and then put my hands all over your chest and stomach, but not your cock. Have I got that right?"

David just groaned again, balled his left hand into a fist and dropped it listlessly on the mattress. 

"David?" Nixon asked. He rested his hands on his own thighs and waited.

"Yes - yes. Chest... stomach." He inhaled loudly. "Cock."

"But _not_ your cock. Come on Web, you're a writer. You know how important clarity is."

David exhaled a pained laugh. "Jesus Christ," he mumbled. He cleared his throat. "Please don't touch my cock, Sir. That would be the worst thing that could happen right now, so whatever you do -"

"Hey now," Nixon scolded. "You start mouthing off and I'm not going to touch you at all."

David propped himself on his elbows again and looked down at Nixon. Submission burned steady in his eyes as he fixed them on Nixon's and smiled deferentially. 

"I wouldn't want that, sir. Please, do whatever you want to me. I promise I'll be good now. Please?" He pouted harder, raising his eyebrows. "Please. Touch me again."

"Catch on quick, don't you?"

***

The man is a total fucking sadist, that's all there is to it, he decides, as the half-hour mark waves pompously as it passes him by. He'd taken almost an hour with the foreplay, all that teasing and kissing and licking and biting, only to spend three minutes, maybe four, fucking him before coming with a primordial yelp that made David wonder if he'd hurt himself. 

Then flipping him over, tying him up and disappearing into the bathroom. David heard water running, figured he was showering. He'd emerged twenty minutes later to drop lazily onto the bed and jerk him off for roughly one minute, long enough for David to just make out little glimmers of orgasm beginning to wink at him from the horizon. Then he stopped abruptly and began getting dressed. 

Who _does_ that?

When he finally comes back - a full hour later - David's arms are numb and his patience is a faded memory.

"Oh, you're still here," Nixon says, setting his flask on the bureau and unbuttoning his jacket. 

His gentle swaying makes it clear that he's had a couple already, and rather than argue with a drunk man, which David knows to be a fruitless endeavor, he takes a deep breath and summons his most entitled tone. 

"I believe you said you'd make it worth my while, Sir."

"Are you not enjoying yourself, Private?" Nixon slinks over to the bed and carefully lays his body down next to David's. "Have you got more cathedrals to visit?"

David swallows, hard, and avoids Nixon's gaze. "It's getting late, Sir."

Nixon props himself on one elbow and dips his head to kiss David's neck. "Better not waste any more time, then."

David parts his legs to let Nixon crawl between them, licking his way up one thigh. There's something obscene about the fingers on his other thigh, creeping higher and inside and between to explore his dark places. 

Nixon hums on a heavy breath. "You're nothing if not enticing, Webster," he sighs, almost regretfully.

David's considering the implications of that word that could be a compliment, but doesn't sound like it, as he feels thick hair, tacky with pomade, brush against his lower abdomen, feels the wet heat of Nixon's tongue tracing the faint line of oblique muscle between his hip and belly. 

"Look at you getting hard again," Nixon says, and the regret has vanished. "And I've barely touched you. You must find me incredibly attractive, huh? I mean, you must _really_ want me."

David can't help but chuckle and shake his head indulgently. "All right, Sir. Sure. Whatever you say. Just please -"

There aren't many things that can shut him up so soundly, but surely Nixon's mouth on his cock, wide-open and yielding, is now chief among the ones that can. 

His hips buck and thrash, thrusting upward, and Nixon doesn't push them down. He moans and swears and forgets his rank, and Nixon doesn't correct him. What he does do is pause to quickly untie David's wrists and place his hands on the back of his head, ordering a gruff "you know what I want" before taking his cock into his mouth again, hot and wet and noisy and impossibly deep. 

If it's not the best blowjob he's ever had, it's certainly the most zealous. There must be a sense of decorum under his layers of cynicism, David thinks, a different sort of code of honor that he himself knows all too well. It's this strange thought, this eerie identification with Nixon - at least where this clandestine give and take is concerned - that plays in David's head as he comes, holding Nixon's head close to his abdomen and clenching his own face into a warped, profane rictus of forbidden pleasure. 

"Sir... oh my god, Sir..."

The mouth tightens around him as Nixon swallows, then gracefully pulls away.

"That was..."

Nixon stands and retrieves his flask from the dresser, washing the liquor around in his mouth before swallowing it and offering the flask to David. He shakes his head. Nixon takes another drink. 

"I'm - I don't know what to say."

Captain Nixon, all cocky smile and raised eyebrow, doesn't say anything.


End file.
